


like a heathen (clung to the homily)

by jenmishe



Series: more than a candle [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (it's Anakin's fault), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-OT3, So many cliches, nauseous amount of flirting, the inherent homoeroticism of sparring, this fic is 70 percent anakin being horny and 30 percent padmé making fun of him, we know nothing of angst in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenmishe/pseuds/jenmishe
Summary: “Sure.” She shrugs. “You’rethe team, after all. You know, where there’s Kenobi, you will always find Skywalker not far behind, and all of that. I realized I have basically married both of you a few years ago.”“That’s ridiculous.”“I’m not the one with a desire to introduce him into our sex life, though,” she says, and then her expression grows thoughtful. “Well.”Anakin’s brain short-circuits.“Ah, you can always try the pear trick,” she teases him, and Anakin throws the cushion at her.“You married me, though.”“Yes, I’m aware.”(Or: Anakin discovers a few things about himself, Obi Wan only seemingly has his shit together, and Padmé has the best time of her life.)
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, pre-Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: more than a candle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769797
Comments: 123
Kudos: 1088





	like a heathen (clung to the homily)

**Author's Note:**

> it's going to be a ridiculous, short 3k fic, i said to myself. you know, like a liar.
> 
> this is mostly inspired by the 7th season of the clone wars, as we all Know what Awaits Us, and i have no mental capacity to deal with it.
> 
> hope you enjoy anakin being a disaster as much as i have enjoyed writing it.
> 
> edit: if you’re just gonna leave a bookmark that says which parts you didn’t like (when it’s tagged for it) and that it was repetitive, don’t bother. yall know i can see this, right? playful rudeness to strangers isn’t cute.

Anakin realizes that _something_ is truly wrong when he’s in the arms of his wonderful, incredible, powerful, and beautiful wife.

They’re a sweaty mess, the room gone dark a long time ago. Anakin’s at peace in very few situations, and it’s one of them - feeling Padmé’s touch, smelling her sweet hair and tasting her skin. There’s fire inside of him, but his mind is blissfully quiet as he loses himself with his wife.

They always have so few moments together, and most of their time together is spent on quick trysts and stolen kisses, so every time Anakin has some break from the war, he tries to spend every second in Padmé’s apartment.

“Darling,” Padmé rasps, her voice dark and smooth, “make me feel it.”

They’re moving slowly: it’s not about coming (which they already did twice), but being together and sharing their bodies with each other. Anakin feels the exhaustion sweeping into him slowly, but it’s the good kind, like the one after a good mission, as he and Obi Wan sway battered and filthy, but victorious. 

Padmé rolls her hips lazily, her strong thighs gripping him in her tight clutch - he moans and dips his head into her neck, and she laughs.

“My good boy,” she croons, and the fire almost consumes Anakin. He’s moving almost mindlessly, darkness and heat surrounding him. In the crook of Padmé’s neck, he feels safe and loved - he doesn’t need to worry about anything.

It’s a dangerous thing, the dark and mindlessness.

There’s something at the edge of his consciousness - a tug, that only gets stronger the more he slips away. Padmé’s gripping his shoulders, her nails sharply digging into his skin. 

(She has this thing about marking him, not like he’s any better - her skin always blossoms with marks under her deliberate costumes and nothing gets Anakin going like looking at Senator Amidala and knowing that she had to choose a dress without a clavicle because her breasts are covered in purple circles).

“Harder, sweetheart,” she gasps, and Anakin complies, because he’d do anything for her, always. He reaches between them and lifts his head to look at her. It’s seconds before her body goes taut, her breath stopping in her chest - Anakin’s so close behind, for the last time this night, his moves get more erratic—

Padmé relaxes under him, her breathing so full of satisfaction, her face soft and eyes glassy, and this knowledge burns something in Anakin, an affirmation that he did well.

“I love you so much,” she whispers, as Anakin lowers his head, sucking on her clavicle, reaching for the orgasm that’s so close to him.

Her hands lazily move from his back (which is now prickling, and he probably will find a ten set of half-moon marks on his shoulders in the morning), fingers curling into his hair.

In his search for a climax, and covered in Padmé’s sweet words and sharp touch, he fails to notice anything before it’s too late - he’s immersed so much in Padmé, that the phantom feel of another set of hands on his skin doesn’t really register. 

Padmé grips his hair tight, moving his head roughly, and Anakin groans at the feeling, his toes curling - a mouth starts kissing his neck from behind, and Anakin’s breathing sounds very loud in the dark room, as he’s being pressed against two bodies. 

Through the fog, there’s something nagging at the edge of his mind - something that sounds how it’s impossible for another person to be here, how it should worry him - but the hands are rough and huge on his chest, as the person behind him grips him, bent over Padmé, and all thought evaporate with how hot and full he feels under his skin.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he hears Padmé say, and the line snaps _hard_ , flooring him with a sense of deep satisfaction, his eyes open wide.

But here’s the thing: he doesn’t know if what made him come was Padmé’s words, or how the (imaginary) person behind him moved their mouth to his ear, a beard leaving burns on his skin, and said it at the same time with her, with a deep voice he would know blind.

As soon as Anakin’s able to, he looks behind him and then around, but there’s, of course, no one there.

  
  
  


A few minutes later, Anakin concludes that this was a one-time thing his exhausted brain dumbly imagined, and it probably won’t happen again. There’s no need to tell Padmé about it, or worry himself sick - as soon as he gets his full night sleep and makes breakfast for his wonderful wife, and they spend their morning cuddled on the couch, it will be long forgotten. 

  
  
  


(Two nights later, as Padmé kneels behind him, her soft hands sure and hard on his hips, slowly sinking into him, as soon as he closes his eyes, he feels as if there’s someone sitting on the bed, watching them. They’re alone, but it almost feels as if the Force is gently embracing him, making him feel phantom touch and eyes on his skin.

The… _person_ in his mind moves slowly to them, as Padmé’s moves grow harder and faster, and he feels too good to try to open his eyes and dissolve the fantasy. He should feel guilty; probably it will hit him with full force as soon as his heart calms down, but now the only sensation he’s feeling is Padmé, around and inside him, and _him_ , slowly creeping closer. 

_He_ touches Anakin on the shoulder, and Anakin can see him clearly in his mind’s eye, not like before. _His_ eyes are dark, an expression on his face Anakin has never seen, and as Anakin feels the imaginary touch, he moans.

“You’re so good for me,” Padmé gasps, and _he_ nods along, now moving his hand into Anakin’s hair at the same time as Padmé does. They grip him tight, and Padmé snaps into him, and Anakin comes undone, so hard that his breath leaves him.

When he gets his heart under control and his limbs don’t feel like jelly, he makes Padmé come thrice with his mouth and fingers, and if that’s partly because of his guilt, slowly eating through his pleasure haze, then so be it. She’s definitely not complaining.)

  
  
  


Anakin admits to himself that something’s wrong when he walks the next day into the sparring room and his stomach drops out when he sees Obi Wan. The Master smiles timidly when he notices him, and waves slightly, all scruffed out from the training, glowing in the sun, and Anakin feels that he’s completely fucked.

  
  
  


Here’s the thing: Anakin’s sure of, like, two things in his life, and one of them is that he’s completely and utterly in love with Padmé Naberrie. She’s the love of his life, the reason why his mind calms down and why he feels that there’s something worth fighting for. Every time he’s at the front he thinks of her and how he wishes he could love her openly, as that’s what she deserves and more. There’s no doubt in his mind about his feelings for her - Padmé Naberrie is his star, and he’s the poor, small planet, helpless to do anything, but to be near her, forever.

So he doesn’t know how it came to be, this whole having sex with his wonderful, perfect wife, and fantasizing about his best friend while they’re doing it. He feels good about their sex life, feels that they’re really matched and satisfied with it.

(Anakin’s worked really hard for it, okay? Let him have it: he doesn’t like to think about the weeks - _months_ \- after Geonosis, when he started to sleep with Padmé for the first time. It’s better for everyone to forget about it - remembering your roots is good and all, but Anakin prefers being sure of his ability to satisfy his wife without remembering how he had to learn how to do it.)

Anyway. This thing is getting out of control - it’s as if when Anakin _let_ the fantasy come to him the second time, the floodgates had opened, and he’s helpless to do anything but watch the devastation. He’s caught himself four times watching Obi Wan, his gaze set on him instinctively. Every little thing he does draws Anakin’s attention and he can’t stop himself from admiring how _attractive_ his friend is. Obi Wan already asked if something’s wrong, so has he noticed, too. Anakin’s skittish and the first time Obi Wan touched his shoulder after the fantasy, he almost screamed, and all his blood went immediately to his face. He was psychically unable to spar with him and has spent the day fighting with Ahsoka and any Knight that was willing.

What’s worse, Ahsoka’s started to notice, and Anakin, in his panic, is sure that it’s a matter of time before she, god forbid, _asks._ He’s not even sure what he would tell her.

Did he have a brain stroke? Is he dead and that’s his idea of hell? Is he poisoned? Is the Force fucking with him and all of it is some elaborate vision as he’s in a deep coma after Seppie’s attack?

  
  
Or is he, you know, honest to god, developing feelings (sexual feelings, though - no one said anything about _romantic_ feelings) for his previous mentor and best friend?

Anakin groans into his pillow, his quarters at the Temple even more lonely than ever.

  
  
  
  


The Council tells them that they’re being sent on Felucia, as the front was once again moved back: they need resources and after five long days of break, they must return to reality.

Anakin realizes that he cannot leave with all the guilt and turmoil eating at him without telling Padmé first: he will spend the whole mission wondering about what-ifs, and feeling as if he had cheated on her (even if he wouldn’t even _think_ about it), and it’s going to be a disaster.

He sneaks out in the evening to go to Padmé, when he’s sure all the business everyone has with him is done, and no one will search for him. Anakin’s pretty sure these times everyone is turning blind eye to Jedi sneaking out at night, anyway. He’s definitely not complaining. 

Padmé’s resting on the couch as he arrives, her handmaidens apparently sent away for now. She smiles sunnily when she sees him, and rises to greet him, in all of her bed-ready beauty. She’s always so gorgeous, and he goes willingly into her embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head, sighing slightly.

“I was wondering when you were going to turn up,” she murmurs into his robes, and he nods, softly framing her face with his hands. He leans down and kisses her on the forehead and nose, then gently on lips, and she smiles into his kiss.

“I’m going back tomorrow,” he whispers against her lips mournfully, wishing for this moment to never end, and she leans back slightly. There are tense lines around her eyes and mouth now, the softness gone.

She looks at him, and they both know now that there’s nothing to be done - not with two years of fighting, with no ending in sight. They’re morbidly getting used to the routine now.

Padmé kisses him on his cheek, and grabs his hand, the durasteel one. It’s always like she doesn’t even notice.

“Let’s go lay together, hm?” she proposes, and he nods before he even knows what he’s doing. As they enter the bedroom, he feels the anxiety slam back into him with full force. 

He has to tell her - but he doesn’t want to lose her, not to this, not to anything. Nothing’s worth losing her, especially to some _desire_ , that will probably disappear after a while.

But he wants to be truthful - he tries to tell her everything, with how many lies they surrender themselves with on a daily basis. The least they can do is be truthful to each other, as they lie to everyone else.

Padmé starts disrobing him, and he helps her, as Jedi robes are hardly the easiest garments to take off. When the last of the cloth falls away, he sighs and steps out of it, content to worry tomorrow about the mess.

Padmé sits on the bed and he goes willingly after her, laying next to her warm body as she leans against the wall. He lays his head on her breast and loses himself in the sound of her heartbeat, the feel of her chest rising and falling, and her fingers softly cradling through his hair.

“Do you want to watch some holovid?” she asks, as she knows perfectly that he’s in a mood in which sleep won’t come easily, and only _Aldera Full of Love_ will lull him to sleep. He only tightens his arms around her, and she sighs but says nothing.

“I have to tell you something,” he finally mutters after minutes upon minutes of mentally steeling himself. She _probably_ won’t react badly - maybe she will be hurt for a while, but after he explains that this doesn’t change anything about how he feels for her, and how she’s more than enough and forever will, she won’t hold this against him. Hopefully.

“Yes, love?” she says, and if he melts a little at the name, that’s his business.

He leans back a little, then decides to sit, so he can look her into the eyes. She blinks a few times at his quick movement, but then crosses her legs and sets her hands on her knees, probably feeling that he wants to tell her something important. 

She grabs his hand and smiles gently, massaging a thumb on his skin, and he relaxes a little.

“When we— uh— ” he coughs and then starts again, despite the heat he’s feeling. Padmé’s eyes are deep and warm, and he feels only love pouring out of her in the Force. “The last time we had sex, something really weird happened.”

Padmé’s brow furrows and she tightens her grip on his hand. “Have I done something wrong? I told you to tell me if I—”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “It’s not about you. It’s, um—”

Padmé raises her brow. “Yes?”

“Well, you see. It was really wonderful, and I enjoyed it immensely. You know I love you, right?”

“Anakin, you’re worrying me,” Padmé says, and she looks as if she doesn’t know is she’s supposed to feel amused or upset.

“I have imagined Obi Wan was there with us.” There. He said it.

Padmé blinks at that and leans back. She watches him with wide eyes, and Anakin grows nervous after a few seconds.

“Padmé?”

“What was he doing?” she asks, her voice unwavering and full of that righteousness - it’s her Senate voice. Anakin gulps.

“Well, the first time— ”

“There was more than once?” she interrupts him, her eyes laser-focused on him. She slowly shifts, towards him, and she looks like a predator. Anakin doesn’t know if he’s scared or aroused - probably both.

“Two times,” he says, his throat tight. Padmé doesn’t look sad or upset, just thoughtful - Anakin’s brain is ready to explode with uncertainty.

“Tell me about it,” she says darkly, smoothly setting herself in his lap. Anakin’s hands instinctively grab her hips

“Well,” he swallows. “The first time was four days ago, you remember?”

“Mhm,” she says, her hands steady on his naked chest. “What have you imagined?”

“At the very end,” he whispers, shame almost overtaking him, but Padmé’s not judgemental - she just looks at him piercingly, almost like she wants to hear this. His heart starts to slowly slow down. The Force feels calm around them, and Padmé doesn’t emote negative feelings. His spine straightens itself and the knot in his stomach lessens. He grips Padmé’s hips tighter and she rolls them lightly.

“After we already came,” he continues, staring into Padmé’s glowing eyes. “You were lying beneath me and suddenly I imagined I felt someone behind me.”

“What was he doing to you?” she murmurs, leaning to him and resting her lips on his jaw. His pulse quickens, arousal stimming low in stomach.

“Nothing special,” he says. “It was as if he was touching me, then I felt his lips on my ear and after I came, it just disappeared.”

Padmé hums, lowering her mouth and biting hard, low on his neck - low enough for his robes to cover. He hisses, instinctively tightening his grip on Padmé’s hips, undoubtedly leaving some kind of marks too. 

“Did he say anything?” she presses, and Anakin suddenly feels a blush bloom on him. Padmé leans back, and says, delighted, “He did!”

“Sithspit, Padmé,” he says, wanting to cover his face. “I just wanted to tell you, and then forget about it.”

Padmé’s eyes are still light up with delight, but she sighs, kissing him lightly on a shoulder, then a cheek. 

“If you imagine your best friend with us during sex, I definitely want to know more about it,” she says. Her eyes are imploring. “You do not wish to leave me, do you?"

“Padmé!” Anakin says, almost scandalized. He sits up immediately, with her still on his lap, so they are chest to chest. “I love you. I want to be with you until the end of time. I’m your husband - I won’t leave you.”

Padmé lays her hand on his cheek, smiling slightly. “I know, love. It doesn’t hurt to ask, though.”

Anakin feels a little insulted that she would doubt his affections, but considering the thing he admitted, he supposes it makes sense. Still.

“You’re not mad?” he asks, to be sure. The Force is calm, but he has to hear it from her.

“No,” Padmé says, and Anakin feels light with relief. “I certainly understand the urge to consider Master Kenobi in his full dashing glory.”

Anakin furrows his brows. His wife looks amused. 

“Are you attracted to Obi Wan, Padmé?”

“Are you, Ani?” Padmé says, her brow raised, and at the look on his face, she finally laughs. “I do like and admire him, he’s a dear friend - it certainly isn’t more than that. But, well, you must be blind not to notice many of his assets, don’t you?”

Anakin waits for the jealousy to uncoil in him, as it always does when Padmé tells him about previous lovers, but he only feels his confusion and lingering arousal. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that he lov— That the one person is his wife and the other is his best friend and he doesn’t feel left alone by either of them.

“Hm,” he only says, and Padmé laughs again, then sets her hands on his shoulders, her figure once again leaning suggestively against him.

“So, you were saying,” she begins.

“Were I?”

“Mhm. Something about your fantasy man speaking.

“Oh, well. He said the same thing you did.” Padmé furrows her brow, trying to remember her words, until a teasing smile blooms on her lips.

“Did you enjoy having him behind you?” she asks, and there’s something weird with her voice, something almost familiar, but still strange— Oh.

“Stop it,” he says, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

She flutters her lashes. “But what are you talking about, my dear?” she says, still maintaining that ridiculous accent - though he has to admit, with her every word it sounds less like mockery and more like a genuine imitation.

He growls and flips them, Padmé almost squealing, before she narrows her eyes. “You will pay for this,” she says, the accent still on, but without the Obi Wan impression.

“Oh, will I?” he teases and then gulps at her look.

Sometime later, as she holds his chin, his body taut with the need to come, she looks him straight into eyes and then leans, her grip strong and unrelenting.

“You are my good boy, aren’t you, Ana _kin_?” she breathes into his ear, and the way she says his name - the way it goes down her tongue, the melodic accent on _kin_ , as it does with only one person, makes him come so hard, he almost sees stars, and he’s pretty sure something explodes.

After he comes back to himself, Padmé’s laying next to him, grinning so hard her cheeks must hurt. 

“Oh my god,” she says, laughter spilling between words.

“Padmé, I’m begging you,” he says, covering his red face.

“Ana _kin_ ,” she says, giggling, and if she weren’t the love of his life, he would definitely choke her with a pillow.

  
  
  


“Anakin,” Obi Wan says, as he jogs up to him next to the ship. “Are you ready to depart?”

Anakin trips at the sound of his voice and only the Force spares him the embarrassment of landing face-first on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Obi Wan asks, worried, and he reaches out to steady Anakin.

“Sure,” Anakin almost squeaks, as Obi Wan’s hand touches his body. “Just peachy. I’m going to do— The thing. Yeah.”

He leaves as fast as he can, leaving bemused Obi Wan behind.

(Thank Gods Ahsoka didn’t see this.)

_I’m going to kill you_ , he sends to Padmé over his comlink. After a few ticks, she sends back, _Please send my greetings to Master Kenobi :) Love you._

He has the best wife, he knows this. 

  
  
  


The first days of the mission are somewhat tense - probably because they’re trying to break the enemy lines and also because every time Anakin’s not planning an attack, he’s looking at his best friend and imagines him naked and fucking him.

Well.

Obi Wan obviously notices that something’s wrong, but he has decided to leave Anakin to do his thing and to come to terms with it on his own a long time ago, which, probably, is a good thing— just not now.

  
  
(And, like, most of the time. Anakin still doesn’t regret marrying Padmé, and never will, but, well.)

After a while Anakin feels like he can look Obi Wan into eyes and not hear Padmé breathy imitation, so that’s a success - a few days more, and they’re more or less back to normal. Anakin, at least, doesn’t feel like his head is going to explode every time Obi Wan tucks his hair back.

(Anakin resorted to actually meditating at one point - surprisingly, it actually helped. Huh. Who knew.)

On a calmer evening, two weeks into the campaign, as the droid army retreats and it seems the line will stabilize itself, Obi Wan stops next to Anakin’s tent.

“Anakin,” he says, furrowing his brows. “Are you actually going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  
  
“Nothing’s bothering me,” Anakin says, displaying a great talent for lying. He smiles and clasps Obi Wan on the shoulder, definitely not wondering how sturdy it feels beneath his hand. There’s been so much progress, he’s almost proud of himself. “Everything’s alright.”

“Mhm,” Obi Wan says, with that perfect dose of doubt and sarcasm, almost exactly like Padmé does, and Anakin suddenly realizes he has a type. “Well. I hope you know you can trust me with anything.”

“Sure,” Anakin says, and silently thinks, _I want you to fuck my brains out, how about that?_ He, of course, doesn’t say it, and also tightly grips the Force around him as to not let anything spill.

Obi Wan smiles at him with that half-sad, half-warm smile of his, gently touches his shoulder, and goes away to talk to his Commander. Anakin sighs slowly, his stomach full of butterflies.

  
  
  
  


After they return, Anakin and Obi Wan have to go to the Senate, and to Anakin’s relief, Padmé’s actually there when he roams the halls on a way to the Chancellor’s office.

He jogs up slightly to her and as she sees him, she grins, her eyes light up with happiness.

“Master Skywalker,” she says, elated. Anakin smiles at her, sure that his love is clear on his face, but not caring.

“Senator Amidala,” he says, dipping his head. They look at each other for a few seconds, Padmé analyzing him for any injuries, and him just wanting to look at her. He offers his arm, and Padmé gently takes it, and they start walking.

“We were just about to visit Chancellor, what about you, Senator?” he asks, as they slowly go down the hall. He wants to cherish every second with her.

“Senator Organa and I plan to visit some other Senators to discuss our cause,” she says evasively. It’s probably something to do with arguing against raising funds for the clones or war effort. “How are you, Master Jedi?”

They talk for a while, the small talk simultaneously irritating, for all the things he wants to talk about in private, and gratifying, just for feeling her next to him.

Padmé slows down a little near the corner where they’re not really visible, and she starts watching something appreciatively.

“Senator?” he asks quietly, and Padmé raises her eyes to look at him, a hooded look in them.

“I was just admiring the view,” she whispers cheekily and Anakin follows her sight, not really surprised to see Obi Wan at the other end of the corridor. They split up some time ago, Obi Wan wanting to discuss some matter with a Senator on a behalf of the Council, and Anakin desperately seeking out Padmé.

He gazes at him just as Padmé’s doing, Obi Wan standing in their line of sight, but not noticing them. He’s talking to a tall, elegant Senator Anakin vaguely recognizes, and of course, he has his full charm on - he’s all smiles and subtle touches and twinkling eyes. He’s going to get what he wants in two minutes, tops.

Anakin doesn’t know what he would do with all of that charm turned on him - probably self-combust on spot. He admires the Senators who can survive it, however grudgingly.

“Hm,” he only says and they both just watch Obi Wan for a while. His hair curls at his forehead and his shoulders look wide in the armor he hasn’t yet taken off. He looks regal, powerful. Beautiful. The Force glimmers around him, gentle, full of Light, and warm, and Anakin doesn’t ever want to take his eyes off him.

“Well, I certainly can’t blame you for your taste,” Padmé teases quietly and he sends her a glare. Before he can say anything though, the Senator Obi Wan’s talking to nods their head and leaves. Obi Wan looks around and they pretend they were slowly walking, just so they don’t look like creeps in the shadows. He notices them and smiles, a little more genuinely. Anakin’s heart weeps.

“Anakin, I was just looking for you,” Obi Wan says and then nods at Padmé. “Senator Amidala,” he says warmly.

“Master Kenobi,” Padmé says, also dipping her head. She doesn’t look like she was just ogling the man twenty seconds before - Anakin’s jealous. He probably still looks like a hammer hit him in the face. “Anakin has just been escorting me to Senator Organa’s office.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Obi Wan says in a tone that Anakin can’t really decipher. Padmé, however, stays unconcerned and smiles that sharp smile of hers. She’s obviously looking him up, but Anakin has no idea if it’s in a “my husband has hots for you” way or “I’m checking you out” way. Probably both.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we must go, Senator,” Obi Wan says apologetically, either oblivious to Padmé’s look or ignoring it. 

“Of course, one must not keep the Chancellor waiting,” Padmé says, with some weird undertone. Obi Wan grimaces, and smiles tightly - they seem to be communicating, but of what, Anakin has no idea. He’s too preoccupied with watching both of them.

”Exactly,” Obi Wan says. “Though it was nice seeing you. I’m sorry to notice that we do not talk as much as we used to.”

Padmé touches his forearm gently, and Anakin feels jealousy flare in him. “As I do, Master Kenobi. We definitely need to meet more often.”

Obi Wan smiles at her kindly, and Anakin just wants to insert himself between them, to have all of their attention on himself.

“Well, let’s go, then,” he interrupts. Padmé looks at him amused, Obi Wan just exasperated. Anakin has no idea why - he was the one just talking about how they must hurry. “Senator. It was good seeing you.”

Padmé dips her head and smiles at him. “You as well, Master Jedi. Until the next time.”

They both leave her behind and start walking towards the Chancellor’s office. They are quiet, but with them, words aren’t always needed. Sure, they love to bicker and fill the sience with needless quips, but when you know someone as well as they know each other, sometimes silence is a good thing.

Anakin glances at Obi Wan from the corner of his eye, and most suddenly a thought hits him: he loves this man. It’s a very unexpected thought, but not exactly surprising - he has loved Obi Wan for a very long time, there’s no doubt about that. He just didn’t think it was in such way, no with their positions, and responsibilities, and Padmé in his life. And yet.

It’s an unexpected realization, and yet Anakin’s mind quickly recognizes it, and nothing grandiose happens. His heart skips a beat, and a warmth spreads through his chest, and that’s all. It just is, like all of the things in Galaxy: The Republic exists, Coruscant is the Core Planet, and Anakin Skywalker is in love with Obi Wan Kenobi.

Obi Wan looks at him when they’re standing in front of the Chancellor’s office, a wry smile on his mouth. “Well, shall we?” He clearly detests talking with politicians - Anakin feels a laugh bubble in him despite the faintly growing hysteria. Thankfully, he’s very good at ignoring his feelings until they are needed.

“I can even credit all of our achievements to you, Master, so you get all the glory,” Anakin says, a smile on his face. Obi Wan rolls his eyes.

“Ah, yes, the glory. Just what I always wanted,” he says, and then they are summoned.

Anakin feels as if his chest is going to burst - he doesn’t remember almost half of the meeting, so consumed by his thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t even feel sorry as everything the Chancellor says goes over his head - Obi Wan’s sitting next to him and his thigh is distractingly warm next to Anakin’s. He stares at the desk in front of him for a long time.

  
  
  
  
  


(An interlude:

Anakin says that his feelings are purely sexual, and he may have been right at the time. However, such thoughts certainly haven’t crossed his mind for the first time. There’s been a time, some years ago, where even a look at his Master made Anakin almost explode and made him get to know his hand intimately well.

He was deeply in denial then, desperately trying to find his path in the Temple, trying to find himself and his place. He was desperate to be perfect for his Master, frightened that he would disappoint him. His nights were spent in darkness, fury and disappointment and resentment and arousal curling around him, making him sometimes even despise his Master.

He made sure to suppress his thoughts with time: they were a result of puberty and lack of closeness with attractive people his age. Sure, there have been some other Padawans once or twice, but nobody has known him as well and as good as his Master - it’s understandable his mind got a little confused. Obi Wan, after all, was very attractive, and everybody knew it. 

Then, as it was deeply suppressed, Padmé reappeared in his life, and the rest is history.)

  
  
  


“It’s worse than I thought,” Anakin groans into the fancy cushions. Padmé hums next to him. She’s immersed in her datapad, but she clearly loves him, as she tries to help him navigate through the mess.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Ani,” she says, gently patting him on a thigh. 

He raises his head, staring at her bewildered. “Why am I surprised? I don’t know, because not even once in my life have I ever imagined this happening to me?"

  
  
Padmé looks up from her datapad and raises an eyebrow. “Not even once?”

Anakin groans and flips on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. “It’s a disaster.”

“Sure, love.”

“I have no idea what to do.”

“Understandable, dear.”

“The whole fabric of the universe is at the edge of annihilation.”

Padmé hums affirmatively and Anakin glares at her.

“You could at least pretend you support me,” he says, devastated. Padmé rolls her eyes.

“Of course I support you, love. I support you and your need to fuck your best friend wholeheartedly.”

Anakin blinks at her, but she doesn’t even look up from her datapad.

“You can try flirting,” she suggests, non-pulsed, but then stops. “Just, ah, maybe consult with me with what you think is appropriate.”

“Padmé, you know it’s not just about fucking,” he says, a bump in his throat. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Padmé looks at him from the corner of her eye. “You think how many times have I heard of my husband and his supposed other half, before I accepted that you two just come in a set?”

“People actually talk like that?”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “You’re _the team_ , after all. You know, where there’s Kenobi, you will always find Skywalker not far behind, and all of that. I realized I have basically married both of you a few years ago.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one with a desire to introduce him into our sex life, though,” she says, and then her expression grows thoughtful. “Well.”

Anakin’s brain short-circuits.

“Ah, you can always try the pear trick,” she teases him, and Anakin throws the cushion at her.

“You married me, though.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

  
  
  
  
  


Thus, the operation: seduce Obi Wan, begins.

Anakin, however, quickly understands that it’s not so simple.

(“You got much better at flirting, darling,” Padmé says, trying to be supportive, much to Anakin’s dismay.

“That’s because you’re the only person I’m flirting with, and you’re my wife. I know you like me.”

“Ah, well.”)

  
  


The thing is: Anakin and Obi Wan like to bicker. They’re known for it, now, and everyone around them just shakes their head when they start it, especially their troopers. Obi Wan’s good at toying on the line of teasing and flirting, and Anakin has seen many times how Obi Wan tipped on that balance, especially with Ventress. Honestly, he’s lost count how many times he genuinely thought they were going to fuck right in front of him.

Anakin, at first, tries to turn it up to maximum between them, but that bites him in the ass when the only thing it accomplishes is Anakin looking like an asshole. He tries to rile him up all the time, and Obi Wan clearly doesn’t know if he’s supposed to get angry or try to knock Anakin down, so they, at some point, almost start arguing.

“Are you really that angry at Master Kenobi, Skyguy?” Ahsoka asks once, after Anakin has started taunting Obi Wan on the battlefield, sending him cheeky smiles all the time, Obi Wan responding with his sharp ones.

“What?” he asks distracted, looking at the holo and trying to plan a strategy. Ahsoka looks a little uncomfortable.

“It’s just, well, uh, we all noticed that you almost always try to start a fight with him now, and it’s getting really weird, Master.”

Anakin looks at her and blinks a few times.

“You think I’m angry at Obi Wan?”

Ahsoka fidgets. “Well, yeah. You almost don’t talk normally now.”

Anakin considers that maybe trying to flirt that way when they’re actively fighting a war and have little time to talk like real people, was a poor idea.

(“You were supposed to _flirt_ with him, Ani, not make everyone think you want to kill him!” Padmé says, visibly struggling not to laugh at his face when he holocomms her.)

“I’m not angry at you,” Anakin says, entering Obi Wan’s room. He has to clear the air - Padmé tells him like three times a day how communication is important - he tries not to disappoint her.

Obi Wan raises his head, and he looks tired - there are big circles under his eyes and he has a slowly blooming bruise on his cheek. His hair is a little dirty and unkempt, and he certainly doesn’t look like Galaxy-wide recognized dashing Negotiator.

He’s still the most beautiful man Anakin has ever seen.

“I’ve accepted the fact that you’re almost always angry at me many years ago, Anakin,” Obi Wan sighs, and Anakin allows himself a small grin.

“Yeah, but it usually is with a good reason, if I so,” he says, but grows more serious at Obi Wan’s look. “No, really, I wasn’t trying to antagonize you. I think I just got too carried away because of the fighting.”

Obi Wan grips the bridge of his nose, setting the datapad away. He turns fully toward Anakin. “You make me worry, Anakin,” he says softly. “You’ve been acting really weird lately and I would like you to tell me what’s troubling you. Please.”

Anakin physically feels himself melt, his insides turning to a warm goo. He steps closer to Obi Wan, and he allows it, looking up at Anakin. Their knees are almost touching.

“It’s nothing serious,” he says finally, reaching out and touching Obi Wan’s shoulder. It’s always just this, this tiny point of contact between - Anakin didn’t know how much he was starved for more until he allowed himself to think about it. He wants to feel Obi Wan’s warm touch every time, everywhere. They belong together.

“Anakin,” Obi Wan says, partly sad and partly exasperated. 

“No, really,” he insists, staring right into those blue eyes. “I’m good.” He wants to tell him, at this moment - he feels as if Obi Wan wouldn’t reject him, not with how warm and accepting he feels. He still stays quiet.

Obi Wan sighs, but doesn’t press. He reaches out and touches Anakin’s cheek, almost cradling it, and Anakin would do anything for him in this moment. He feels the psychical need to kneel, and only a tight grip on his instincts makes him keep standing. The Force is full, warm, and lazy between them, caressing them - it never feels as good as it does when he’s with Padmé or with Obi Wan. His friend feels so lovely in it, and Anakin gladly reaches out to feel the warm embrace of his presence.

“I trust you, then, dear one,” Obi Wan says, and Anakin nods through the bump in his throat. Ridiculously, he feels like crying.

  
  
  
  


After that, Anakin figures out that maybe more touching is the way. Surely Obi Wan will understand what he’s trying to _say_ to him without actually saying it.

He starts out small: he touches him on the shoulder more often, sometimes even on a chest. Obi Wan acts like nothing’s different, but stands now more openly, his body relaxed under Anakin’s hands. He always was generous with his touch, and it doesn’t really change.

Anakin then tries more hugging, and after a few times when Obi Wan is clearly surprised, it too becomes some normal part of their routine - they hug for goodbye and to greet each other. Anakin often winds up with his arm around Obi Wan shoulders as they stand next to each other (throwing a few quips about Obi Wan height, of course - he hasn’t changed _that_ much), and even Obi Wan sometimes leans on Anakin’s shoulder, much to his dismay (it’s totally unfair that Obi Wan does it so nonchalantly, as if Anakin’s brain isn’t ready to leak through his ears).

(It’s been two months since the Galaxy-shattering realization that he kinda wants to fuck his best friend, and one since he thought that just _maybe_ he has some feelings for him.

“I’m making progress,” Anakin says confidently to Padmé one day, and she gives him thumbs up.

“We have married after one week, so I’m really shocked it’s taking you so long,” she says. If Anakin knew that marriage would be just Padmé making fun of him all the time, he would definitely think twice about it.)

(He’s lying, of course.)

  
  
  
  


The sparring is going to be the death of Anakin, though.

Here’s the thing about Obi Wan: he tries really hard to pretend he doesn’t like fighting, but he’s as much an adrenaline junkie as Anakin. Sure, he’s more of an “I have assessed the situation, and we can freely fuck the shit up” person, than “throwing myself at everything because I _want_ to fuck the shit up” like Anakin, but he still has that thirst for danger and fight. He becomes too antsy without fighting, no matter how much he likes to pretend to be more civilized. 

He’s in his element when he’s fighting: he’s a master, _the_ master of Soresu, so he doesn’t fight for the sake of brute strength, but he still loves it. He’s a sight to be seen during fights and on a battlefield, but it’s so much worse when they’re just sparring.

When they’re sparring, Obi Wan’s whole attention’s at Anakin - he watches him closely and analyzes his every move, his eyes sharp and assessing. Anakin has lost count how many times he almost lost just because he was too transfixed by that. (Obi Wan would definitely become too obnoxious if he knew - Anakin must keep that knowledge far away from him).

They know each other like no one else - Padmé’s the love of his life, but Obi Wan is the other half of the soul. They are the strongest when they’re fighting together, every move almost seamlessly matching the other’s, as if they were one person.

That’s what makes fighting each other so exciting - they know each other so well, it’s almost like fighting themselves, so it makes it all so much satisfying to get a win.

“C’mon, General,” Anakin taunts him, jumping away from the blade. The blue hums next to Obi Wan’s face, makes his eyes glow. “That’s all you got?”

“Such a brat,” Obi Wan says amused, slightly panting. He twirls his blade, fluidly moving between positions, ending at the Soresu stance, the one he’s so known for - Anakin’s both 15 and 23 at the same time, always in awe of his Master’s control of his ‘saber.

Obi Wan turns his two fingers upside down and makes a “come hither” gesture at Anakin with his hand, a cocky smirk on his face.

He’s so fucking hot, it’s genuinely unfair.

Anakin twirls his own lightsaber and attacks him, but Obi-Wan’s obviously expecting it - Anakin’s pretty predictable during fights, to be honest.

They dance for a long time, breaths getting more and more ragged. After a while, Anakin understands that he has to stop thinking about what he’s doing, because if he does, Obi Wan already knows it even before him. The planet’s suns are hot on their backs and Anakin regrets not disrobing completely - they’re alone anyway, far away from any troops or civilians. The last three days were filled only with planning and strategizing, and they both grew pretty restless without getting to disassemble a few clankers.

Anakin tries to jump away from Obi Wan’s blade, but Obi Wan trips him and then grabs his robes on his chest roughly. His hand is the only thing preventing Anakin from tripping, hanging uselessly and barely standing on the soles of his feet.

“Looks like I win,” Obi Wan says smugly, knocking Anakin’s lightsaber out of his hand and then holding his blade near Anakin’s throat. Anakin wonders how anyone can be fooled that this is man is anything but a shit-eating asshole.

(His breath still catches, though, at the maneuver and the strong hand holding him up.)

Anakin gives himself a Force push, twisting Obi-Wan’s arm and the hissing blade away from him, throwing the man on the ground with a kick to his knee, controlling the strength of the movement with his thigh on Obi Wan’s hips. Obi Wan falls with a shout, clearly not expecting the move, and Anakin lands on him, digging his knee on Obi Wan’s thigh. He summons his blade and holds the cold metal on Obi Wan’s throat. They both know that one press, and the blade would go straight through his neck.

“‘Never be too confident of your abilities, young Padawan’,” Anakin intones with a posh accent, and Obi Wan grumbles under his breath, thumping his head on the dirt.

“Very funny,” he says, throwing Anakin a sour look. Anakin is grinning cheekily and he knows it. It’s a good feeling, after all. He positions himself more comfortably on Obi Wan’s thighs, and lessens his grip on the lightsaber, raising his eyebrow.

“I thought to boast wasn’t proper for a good Jedi, old man?” he says. 

“I wasn’t boasting,” Obi Wan says, then, too quick for Anakin to follow, and with nothing in the Force to give him away, he flips them around, Anakin too distracted to do anything with his lightsaber.

Anakin’s breath gets punched out of him with the motion, his back hitting the ground.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as Obi Wan grabs his hands, his grip tight, and immobilizes him with his body.

“You have to expect the unexpected, my friend,” Obi Wan intones in his The Wise Master tone, the lying cheater.

“That’s cheating and you know it,” Anakin whines, absolutely refusing to admit that he’s a little aroused. He tries to move his hands, but they don’t even budge, and the heat spreads slowly through his abdomen. “The enemy won’t get distracted so easily, though, so it’s you who would be dead, not me.”

“And you say you let yourself get distracted?” Obi Wan raises his brow, with a glint in his eye. The lock of his hair is falling on his forehead as he’s leaning over Anakin. Anakin flushes slightly.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Anakin grumbles, even though that’s totally what he’s saying. “Get off me.” He wiggles a little, but he practically has no room to move. That definitely shouldn’t be so hot.

Obi Wan looks at him a little longer, and Anakin feels the red spreading rapidly through his cheeks. This situation has the potential to get uncomfortable really quickly.

Obi Wan sighs that totally-exhausted sigh of his and finally stands up, letting Anakin go. Anakin quickly sits up, and Obi Wan straightens his robes, then offers his hand to Anakin. He takes it without thought, and then spends solid ten minutes thinking about the feel of Obi Wan’s rough palm on his own, even though he lets go immediately.

They both come back in silence and Anakin’s not even sure if the awkwardness is entirely his fault.

  
  
  
  


Here’s the thing about Anakin Skywalker: he’s a total lightweight.

He, of course, doesn’t want anyone to know this, but unfortunately for him, everyone that would make fun of him, already is aware. Obi Wan knows because he’s a lying cheating bastard and can drink anyone under the table (model Jedi, his _ass_ ), and Anakin has experienced that at first-hand. Padmé knows because he thought it would be a great idea to drink a little before they slept together for the first time (he still doesn’t know how she married him after that). Rex and Fives and Echo and— Well, pretty much every trooper close to him knew because of course, they went drinking together a few times. Anakin’s not exactly proud of these moments.

(He’s also pretty sure that even Mace Windu somewhat knows about his tolerance for alcohol - Anakin has some pretty hazy memories of coming back to the Temple when he was 17 and Aayla took him and some other friends out to celebrate her Knighting. Obi Wan went on a mission alone, and Anakin went _crazy_ with his newfound freedom. 

Anakin’s still not really sure how he made it back to his quarters. He’s not even sure if he hadn’t made Master Windu up - he certainly wouldn’t look as amused if he had found Anakin hammered, wandering around Jedi Temple in the middle of the night.)

It looks like today is the day Ahsoka is going to learn that vital information about her Master.

He misses Padmé, alright. It’s been _weeks_ since he has seen her - more than a month since he had the occasion to be with her for more than ten minutes.

So when his men say they want to celebrate getting yet another city under control, overbearing Admirals and cruisers far away from them, who’s Anakin to say no? It will be good for all of them - sure, Ahsoka can’t really drink, but the sheer fact of getting to relax for a while, and just joke around with people you care about, is enough.

But. Anakin’s not really known for his ability to back down from any challenge. Drinking contests included.

“Is Skyguy okay, Master?” he hears Ahsoka’s muted voice, and he mumbles something in the fabric in front of him. He’s _great_ , Snips. Greater than he’s been in a long time.

“Yes, Padawan,” he hears the fabric in front of him sigh. “You just have to remember to _always_ take any alcohol far away from your Master, Ahsoka.”

Anakin mumbles more into the fabric, angry that they dare to talk about him, but not having enough strength to lift his head up. He will tell all of them what he thinks of that. He’s their— General, for ancestors’ sake.

“You better take care of that, General,” he hears another voice say amusedly. He will deal with all of them. In time. They will taste his wrath.

“Yes, I believe you may be right.” The fabric shifts, and Anakin suddenly finds light right in front of his face. He blinks; his eyelids are unusually heavy and slow. “Up, Anakin.”

“‘m not a child,” he says, but tries to get up - he’s a little surprised that the rough fabric was actually Obi Wan’s robes. Somewhat, he has found himself on his lap.

Anakin’s pretty angry at his drunk mind - he doesn’t even remember getting there. He would like to remember getting to sit on Obi Wan’s lap, thank you very much.

“Sometimes I find that really hard to believe,” Obi Wan says, sounding irritated. Anakin doesn’t like it when he’s annoyed. Obi Wan pretending to be angry, but in reality, suppressing his laugh when Anakin and Ahsoka mess around? Great. Obi Wan actually being angry at Anakin? Not great.

“Don’t be mad, Master,” Anakin slurs, laying his cheek on Obi Wan’s shoulder. He has given up on trying to slide out of his lap - not like he wanted to do it, anyway - so he’s awkwardly perched halfway on his thigh, but he doesn’t care. Obi Wan smells great, and his neck is really soft in contrast to his beard a little higher. “‘not like when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Obi Wan says, “but _you’re_ going to be tomorrow if I let you talk any more, so let me take you to bed.”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Anakin says, suddenly thinking how that’s the _best_ idea. He’s pretty sure he hears someone (several someones?) snort next to them, but he doesn’t care. “Let’s do it. Immediately.”

Obi Wan sighs again, but Anakin already slid off of his lap, so clearly they’re making progress. “Let’s just forget any of the last fifteen minutes happened,” he pleads quietly, and Anakin hears a few similar voices call out, not even trying to be sincere, “sure, General!”

“Look what you did,” Obi Wan grumbles as they slowly walk alone towards—tents? Anakin’s not really sure. He’s pretty much relying on Obi Wan to do anything, even walking. But just a little.

“Didn’t do anything,” Anakin argues.

“You never do,” Obi Wan rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of Anakin. Anakin could get used to it - Obi Wan’s great at holding him, and Anakin can’t remember if they ever spent so much time pressed so closely, even with how much more touchy their relationship grew recently. It’s a great feeling.

Clearly, all of it was a part of Anakin’s plan. He’s great at making plans like that.

“You’re so great,” he says, carefully pronouncing every word. He has found out that sometimes his mouth forgets what words he tries to say with it. That cannot happen now. “You’re the best person in my life, Master.”

“Really?”

  
  
“Mhm. Except for Padmé.”

“Of course.”

“But I can’t tell you why Padmé is also the best person in my life.”

“Of course.”

“Seriously.” Anakin suddenly stops, trying to look at Obi Wan. Getting him to understand this is the most important thing right now. “You mean so much to me.”

Obi Wan’s face softens, clearing away the tight lines around his eyes. He smiles a little at Anakin, and swipes his thumb under Anakin’s eye and on his cheek, and Anakin feels like he could die, and he wouldn’t even mind. 

“You’re also pretty important to me, Anakin,” Obi Was says, as he tries to drag him to his bed. He helps him sit, but Anakin doesn’t want to let go of him yet, elated. They’re face to face, with Anakin’s arms tight around his neck, and Obi Wan’s eyes glimmer a little.

“Really?”

“Really,” Obi Wan says, and he sounds sincere. Anakin lets go of him and his head hits the bed, pleasantly buzzing. 

“That’s cool.”

“Mhm,” Obi Wan says, taking off his boots. Anakin cuddles closer to the bedding, missing Obi Wan’s warmth, but not having enough strength to reach out again. He’s suddenly wiped out.

He feels a hand brushing aside some curls from his forehead, and the love in the touch and around him in the fuzzy Force makes Anakin feel warm from the inside.

“Sleep well, dearest,” murmurs a voice, a melted gold in the Force, and Anakin follows its command.

He wakes up hungover but surprisingly well rested: most of the night is foggy for him. Obi Wan smiles at him when he sees him in the morning (of course looking like he hasn’t been drinking at all, even though Anakin vaguely remembers them racing to see who can finish more shots in one minute), and Ahsoka is constantly snickering and throwing jabs at him. The clones tease him a little about his weak head, but as they realize he doesn’t remember much, they back off a little. Still, Anakin’s feeling a little embarrassed - maybe it’s good he has forgotten what happened.

It probably wasn’t important, anyway.

  
  
  


(“You have to make a move, Anakin,” Padmé says, annoyed, as he’s once again complaining to her. They’ve been on Coruscant for a few days now, four months after Anakin’s realization, and he realizes that his wife is getting tired of his whining. “How much longer do you want to dance around this? Obi Wan’s going to get tired soon.”

“I’m now almost completely sure that he’s not interested in me like that,” he says despairingly, trying to find some compassion in Padmé, but she only looks at him exhausted.

“Anakin,” she says. “That man is deeply repressed and has been raised in a culture that disapproves of any strong attachments, and even _I_ can see how much he cares for you. I see him once a few months.”

“Hm,” he only says, and he’s pretty sure Padmé doesn’t throw her datapad at him only because she loves him.)

  
  
  
  
  


Honestly, Anakin doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s pretty sure their relationship hasn’t changed, and— and _yet_. Sometimes Obi Wan will look at him, or his touch will linger a little, or his words have that special teasing note, that Anakin’s pretty sure he never heard aimed at him, and Anakin will think, _maybe—_ But then real life knocks, and Anakin realizes that _surely_ he must have been wrong. They’re just _not_ like that, no matter how Anakin likes to pretend and dream.

Padmé’s pretty insistent Obi Wan _likes_ him (and it sounds so juvenile, but those words still stir something in Anakin), but he just doesn’t see it. Sure, _sometimes_ they tease each other with words that balance on flirtation, but that’s just how it is, really.

But. Well. There are some times—

He exhales, changing his stance along with his breath. His body is fluidly moving between poses, long ago drilled katas deep in his muscle memory. They realized pretty quickly that normal meditation wasn’t good for Anakin - opening himself for all of the Force was actually more damaging than balancing, with his sensitivity, to be honest. But when Anakin was moving, his mind offline, and pure instincts moving his muscles - that was when he was truly the one with the Force. It flew through him freely, lighting up every blood vessel and muscle and nerve, making him feel whole and balanced. The mess in his head untangled until all of it went away, even for a short while.

It’s no difficulty, to sense Obi Wan’s presence before he even is near - Anakin’s so greatly attuned to the Force, that he can feel almost every living being in the Temple, small or large, sentient or not. The presence of his friend is so deeply attuned to his psyche, that Anakin would know him blind.

Obi Wan enters his quarters, not even bothering to knock, and Anakin changes his stance again, the blade a smooth smudge in the air. He feels more than hear Obi Wan loitering around, making himself a tea, and cleaning the kitchen before he finally enters the room. Anakin doesn’t mind his presence - it’s familiar, warm, calming. Obi Wan always feels incredible in the Force, like golden honey, and with Anakin so deeply immersed in it, he can’t stop himself from reaching out. Obi Wan doesn’t open up entirely, but he also doesn’t back off, so that’s great - he feels his admiration and affection, both from afar and next to him.

He slowly withdraws, and ends his sequence, turning off the lightsaber, before opening his eyes. Everything’s a little sharp to his senses, as always after he meditates. The echoes and presences linger in his mind, as he slowly tries to close himself off. He almost feels drunk, the energy flowing through him so freely.

“You were bored?” he finally says, as he notices that Obi Wan is content with the silence, drinking his tea and sitting on Anakin’s bed, as all of the chairs are cluttered with some parts and clothes. Obi Wan hums a little, maybe in a small trance of his own.

“Feeling a little lonely, perhaps,” he finally says, surprisingly honest. He opens his eyes and looks at Anakin, as he clips his lightsaber to his belt and starts tidying up a room a little. “I have found out spending every minute with you or our troops has left me a little… unsettled, if I’m left alone for too long.”

“Look at you,” Anakin teases, grabbing the screws and bolts and throwing them into one container. “You have evolved from a hermit to the social butterfly.”

“Ah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe two more years of war before that.”

Anakin snorts, kicking the box under the table. He looks around and starts picking up clothes from the floor.

“I always forget how bright you are in the Force,” Obi Wan muses, staring right in front of himself, mindlessly stirring his tea. He has this annoying habit of drinking with a spoon in the cup, and Anakin’s sure that he’s going to stab his eye out one time. Of course, it hasn’t happened yet, and Obi Wan was probably drinking his tea this way for longer than they knew each other, but still. “Of course, one cannot forget it seeing your brute strength in the battlefield, but it’s always so incredible to see you while you’re meditating.”

“You flatter me, old man,” Anakin says. He turns his back to Obi Wan and starts folding his clothes, just so he can hide his flush. He doesn’t know how to react at the praise.

“Mhm, good,” Obi Wan says like it’s normal to throw these kinds of remarks in a casual conversation. “You must know that you have grown into a great Jedi, Anakin. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Anakin drops the undertunic he’s folding and turns to Obi Wan, the praise making him feel hot from the inside, but also frustrated. He can’t deny the pleasure those words bring him, like a balm to his jagged feelings and thoughts, but also it’s very unusual for Obi Wan to say things like that in such an ordinary scene. He would expect these kinds of words to be said in a “one of us is going to die soon” situation, than in Anakin’s quarters as he’s folding his clothes and Obi Wan’s drinking tea.

“What do you want, Master?” Anakin says, maybe a little aggressively, but he’s tired of those whiplashes he’s getting. 

Obi Wan puts his cup on a drawer, and looks at Anakin focused, his eyes assessing as if they’re on a battlefield. Anakin scowls.

“Anakin,” Obi Wan says softly. “You know how much I care about you. Please stop playing dumb.”

Anakin bristles, ready to quip something about who’s the one being dumb, but Obi Wan’s relentless stare stops him. He’s looking at him— _pleadingly_. Meaningfully. Anakin simultaneously wants him to stop looking at him and to never take his eyes off Anakin.

Obi Wan reaches out with his hand, in an unusual act of vulnerability. The air between them is tense and still, like the Force itself is holding its breath. 

Anakin steps closer and takes his hand. It’s not like he was ever going to do anything else.

Obi Wan smiles at him, the expression timid and sincere, so unlike his usual smirks. Anakin feels all of his emotions slowly drowning him, the bile in his throat rising and rising. He has no idea what he’s doing.

He looks at their hands, fingers slotted together perfectly. Obi Wan drags his thumb slowly on Anakin’s palm, his pads rough from the years of fighting. His nerve endings feel like they’re on fire.

“Come here,” Obi Wan murmurs, his voice a slow drawl in the silence, gently tugging Anakin closer. Anakin goes without thought, his mind empty like droid’s wiped core. Obi Wan grabs Anakin’s thigh with his other hand, as if reaching for any point of contact between them, the palm big on his leg, and Anakin doesn’t gasp only because his throat is too tight to make any sound.

“What are you doing,” he finally whispers roughly, his stomach in knots of anxiety and arousal. He feels as if Obi Wan’s hand on his leg is pulsating, his whole focus on that point of contact.

Obi Wan hums, staring at their joined hands, and slowly raises them, Anakin’s hold limp. He kisses Anakin’s knuckles, his lips soft on his skin, and Anakin makes a weird noise as if he’s being strangled.

“What does it look like?” Obi Wan asks, raising his hooded eyes, and looking at Anakin, seemingly staring right through him, as if he knows Anakin completely. Anakin doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

“What about the Code?” Anakin says, the core of his anxieties finally said out loud, in the dim room in the middle of the Temple. Obi Wan’s hold on his thigh tightens and Anakin’s knees give out a little. He’s never felt so helpless.

“I’ve had much time to think about it,” Obi Wan says finally, his hold not lessening. “I realized a few things about myself and my place here.”

“Did you now,” Anakin says, suddenly giddy. The whole situation still feels a little like a fever dream, and he’s half expecting to wake alone, far away from Padmé or Obi Wan. He feels heady, his sense clouded. 

He shuffles closer, and Obi Wan tugs him with his grab on his thigh, and Anakin finally sits on his lap. Obi Wan lets go of his hand and Anakin doesn’t even have time to mourn the lost touch, before his hand goes on his hip and grabs hard. He feels owned, with the greedy touch Obi Wan bestows upon him - he probably has never felt better in his life.

“Why now?” Anakin breathes out as he leans, his lips stopping on Obi Wan’s pulse. Obi Wan shudders under him and through Anakin’s veins courses pure lava.

“I have grown tired of your dancing around it,” Obi Wan just says, and Anakin honestly feels betrayed that Padmé was right. Anyway. Not like he’s complaining.

There’s faint arousal around them, the psychical closeness right beside their Force bond, still so raw from Anakin’s meditation. Anakin greedily opens up, grinding slightly on Obi Wan, and he allows it, his mind also opening up, even though slightly more cautiously.

There is so much admiration and love on the other end, more than he has ever thought Obi Wan would feel, that it leaves Anakin breathless. Suddenly, everything’s not enough - there’s too much fabric between them, not enough contact, too much space.

His fingers sloppily start untangling Obi Wan’s rough fabric, and he allows it, slightly leaning back to make room for Anakin. They’re moving more on instinct now than anything else, their senses too much tangled in each other.

Obi Wan suddenly grips Anakin’s jaw with his hand, raising his head higher, away from his neck where Anakin’s panting, and he moves obediently. He would do anything for this man, anytime. Obi Wan’s intent becomes clear as he moves their faces closer - so much happened, and yet they still haven’t kissed.

Anakin groans as Obi Wan’s lips meet his, yet another point of contact between their deprived bodies. There’s pure fire in him now, and he doesn’t ever want to put it out. He tangles his hand on the back of Obi Wan’s neck, the other still desperately trying to unwind his tunic. Obi Wan owns him, body and soul, his mouth claiming and rough, taking greedily everything Anakin gives him and more.

Anakin finally untangles his robes and leans back, his lips hot and aching, hurriedly trying to take them off Obi Wan. They both tangle a little in the fabric, Obi Wan’s arms in the air, and they both laugh as Obi Wan’s scruffed head finally appears and Anakin throws his tunic away.

Anakin shifts a little, his lower legs slightly tingling from the way they’re bent, but he doesn’t want to move - he’s comfortable right where he is. His hands wander on Obi Wan’s chest, desperate for any touch. Something digs into his hip, and he smiles cheekily at Obi Wan.

“Is that your lightsaber or are you just so happy to see me?” he says, and Obi Wan snorts, his eyes crinkling with laughter. Anakin has never seen him so happy - his whole soul sings with joy.

Obi Wan unclips his lightsaber from his belt, then Anakin’s, and softly tosses them on his robe on the ground. He smiles at Anakin, once again grabbing his hips.

“Definitely happy to see you,” he says, the smug bastard, and then rolls his hips, grounding Anakin on him with his steady touch. Something’s still digging into Anakin, and all coherent thought leaves him.

“Off, off” he mumbles grumpily, now grappling with his own robes, and Obi Wan quickly tries to help him. Finally, he’s also free, and they both waste no time, once again kissing, their desperate hands wandering.

Anakin starts kissing Obi Wan cheek, then jaw, then neck, leaving a wet trail behind, the beard tickling and leaving a pleasant burn on Anakin’s skin that Anakin has dreamed about so much. Obi Wan groans, his head leaning back to give Anakin more access.

“No marks,” he hisses, as Anakin fixates too much in one place. He mumbles something into his skin. Obi Wan tugs lightly on his hair, and Anakin moans quietly, raising his eyes to stare at Obi Wan. Obi Wan’s gaze is dark, hungry, and he looks at Anakin for a while, before raking his fingers to the base of Anakin’s hair and tightening his grip, moving his head to the left. Anakin’s nails desperately scratch at Obi Wan’s shoulders, trying to hold anything, the pressure on his skin too much. His grinding grows more desperate as Obi Wan moves his head around.

“Interesting,” he just says, and tugs more sharply. Anakin’s mouth opens, his gaze glossy, and a guttural sound leaves his throat. He’s so hard it’s getting painful.

“Fuck,” he hisses, closing his eyes, as the pressure builds. It’s totally unfair that he figured it out so quickly - it took Padmé a few months before her touch grew so certain and she discovered how a little pulling affected Anakin. Obi Wan definitely holds too much power over him now.

“You’re so beautiful,” Obi Wan tells him, lessening his hold. He’s embarrassingly honest, and a flush works its way through Anakin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, his scalp tingling. He grabs his jaw and starts kissing him, muffling Obi Wan’s protest. He immediately quietens, and Anakin feels building satisfaction at the knowledge that he can make him shut up so quickly. He feels a grin working it’s way on his lips even despite the kiss.

“Insolence is not a good look on you,” Obi Wan mumbles into his lips, tugging him off his lap and twisting them around. Anakin’s feet got numb a while ago with the way he was sitting, and he doesn’t even care.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he says, letting Obi Wan manhandle him effortlessly. The desperate need in him has calmed down a little, but he still feels restless and horny, and Obi Wan’s definitely touching him too little.

He’s laying on his back, Obi Wan leaning over him, and it’s so similar to the way they have laid on the ground as they spared, and yet so different. He rakes his hands through Obi Wan’s cheeks, the beard tickling his palms funnily, and then he combs his hair a little.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, opening his legs to allow Obi Wan to fit more comfortably, and gleefully watches as his friend blushes. “Why, General Handsome, who would have thought you were so shy.”

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t shut up even in bed,” Obi Wan says, rolling his eyes, but his hands are still trying to undress Anakin’s pants, and his cheeks are still pink, so who’s the winner here.

“C’mon,” Anakin whines a little, trying to grind on something, the tent in the fabric obvious. “I’m going to explode soon.”

Obi Wan throws him a look, but lowers his mouth and starts kissing his chest, his nimble hands taking off his pants. Anakin rises his hips a little, impressed by Obi Wan’s attention span.

He winds his fingers up in Obi Wan’s hair once again, just enjoying the ride, as Obi Wan kisses and sucks his way down Anakin’s torso, leaving a beard burn behind and lowering his pants as he moves down. Anakin groans at the sharp bite under his collarbone and throws a look at Obi Wan.

“What about leaving no marks?” he hisses, the mark prickling a little and tethering him to his body. 

Obi Wan shrugs. “No one said anything about leaving no marks on you.”

Anakin bristles a little - it’s not like he’s opposed to it, truly, but sometimes he just has this urge to argue with Obi Wan for the sake of it, and apparently it doesn’t disappear even as they’re in bed together. 

Obi Wan, however, quickly takes his mind off it, as his intent becomes clear. He takes off Anakin’s underwear, his dick finally freed, and Anakin groans at the feeling. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, as Obi Wan starts sucking on his hip bones and thighs, also leaving marks there. “I think you have a kink, Master.”

Obi Wan looks at him from under his eyelashes, his gaze dark, and Anakin shudders a little at the heat in his eyes, and the phantom touch of the Force around them, full of their shared desire. The room is halfway lit, the shutters on Anakin’s windows throwing weird shades on both of them, and Anakin thinks he could spend eternity like that.

“You’re the one to talk about kinks,” Obi Wan snips, hitching Anakin’s right leg higher, and Anakin gladly moves, grounding his foot on the cover. “Now be quiet.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Anakin mumbles, only halfway teasing, but all thought leaves his mind as Obi Wan finally takes him into his mouth. His breathing gets harder, and he instinctively tries to grind into the wet warmth, but Obi Wan holds him still with his hands on Anakin’s hips, his fingers roughly digging into his bare skin. Anakin’s going to be _covered_ in marks after they’re done.

Anakin’s pretty sure he’s not going to last long - not with how much time it has passed since the last time he had sex, not with how much they already teased each other and how much he feels as if he’s going to burst out of his skin.

His hands are slack in Obi Wan’s hair, the Master controlling the rhythm, Anakin only being taken for the ride. He arches his spine a little, his hips moving in little circles, as the pleasure builds in him relentlessly. He tries to watch, the way Obi Wan’s head bobs gently and his cheek shows the outline of Anakin’s dick, but all of it becomes too much too quickly. Obi Wan’s focused, his undivided attention on Anakin, as one of his hands starts moving with his mouth. If Anakin has thought Obi Wan was hot on the battlefield, it’s nothing compared to this. He shuts his eyes.

“Fuck, gods,” he rasps, tightening his hold a little. “Sithspit, I’m, ah, not going to last much longer, Ma-Master.”

Obi Wan hums a little, the vibrations traveling straight through his dick to his brain, and sucks a little harder, and Anakin’s mind becomes blank, the tension finally snapping, a moan tearing through his mouth. He would be embarrassed how quickly he came if it didn’t feel so good, so Galaxy-shatteringly _righteous,_ them being together.

He’s faintly aware of Obi Wan slowly hitching up, holding himself up on his elbows. Anakin slowly flutters his eyelids open as they’re face to face, the endorphins coursing through his body, his mind hazy.

Obi Wan kisses him on his cheek, the touch suspiciously sticky, but Anakin doesn’t have the strength to be grossed out. “Well, that was quicker than I thought.”

“Smartass,” Anakin mumbles under his breath, his body lax and soft. “You done?”

Obi Wan snorts quietly as he kisses Anakin on his face and jaw. It feels really nice. His fingers are still in Obi Wan’s hair and he flexes them a little, feeling how they became a little stiff. Obi Wan grounds a little against Anakin’s hip, and he still feels very much hard.

“No, I’m not ‘done’,” Obi Wan says, sounding exasperated. “Are you always such a gentleman in bed?”

“Only when the orgasm is good,” Anakin mutters, his hands lazily moving down to take Obi Wan’s pants down, helping himself with his hitched knees. He has no idea how the man is still in them, honestly. 

“Is that a compliment?” Obi Wan says, then hisses as Anakin uncovers him, both of them quickly removing the cloth. 

“Sure.” Anakin shrugs, more coherent, but still lazy and a little tired. “C’mon,” he says, his hand worming down and gripping around Obi Wan’s dick. He looks down. “Nice,” he says appreciatively at the sight. 

Obi Wan rolls his eyes, but he still gasps when Anakin starts moving his hand. He’s such a smartass, but he probably isn’t going to last much longer than Anakin - he feels the tension in the Force, how Obi Wan is bursting at the seams despite his facade.

“You can come on me,” he says, fluttering his eyelids, as Obi Wan also grips himself, both of their hands working him up and down. Anakin wiggles a little, so Obi Wan’s perched more comfortably over his hip.

“Fuck,” Obi Wan whispers, leaning his forehead against Anakin’s collarbone. He starts rutting against Anakin, his dick leaving wet smears on his skin, and despite his recent orgasm, Anakin feels arousal slowly stir in him again, at the way Obi Wan’s using his body, absentminded.

“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps, hitching his leg around Obi Wan’s hips to create more friction for him. The Master’s arms are shaking a little from holding up his body up.

“Are you ever quiet?” Obi Wan says, lifting his head up. His eyes are wide, glassed over from arousal, and Anakin’s hand slips from his hair to his neck, straining his own neck up.

“No, you have to make me,” Anakin says, and Obi Wan roughly kisses him, shifting a little so his poor arms rest and Anakin takes off his leg. They’re now both laying, Obi Wan on his side, relentlessly thrusting against their hands and Anakin’s stomach. Anakin’s mostly just laying, taking what Obi Wan gives him, his mouth a little slack.

Obi Wan leans away, framing Anakin’s face with his hands, his moves growing more and more desperate. Anakin’s hand still tries to move, but it’s just mostly Obi Wan rutting into his hand and against his body.

Obi Wan exhales harshly, resting his forehead against Anakin’s, their breaths mingling. Anakin loves this man so much - he’s perfect, and powerful, and incredible. All his.

“Master,” he whispers, almost feverishly. “Come on, come on me.” Obi Wan’s thumbs are framing his face and Anakin turns his head a little, to take one of them into his mouth. He stares straight into Obi Wan’s eyes, sucking hard on his finger, and Obi Wan moans, his eyelids fluttering. He moves the thumb in and out, gently tracing Anakin's lips and dipping the finger in, and Anakin closes his eyes at the feeling. Obi Wan moves his hand a little so his index and middle finger rest on Anakin’s aching lips, and takes out his thumb, leaving a string of saliva. Anakin readily opens up for two slender fingers, his tongue curling around their salty length.

“You’re so perfect,” Obi Wan murmurs, staring at him in awe, his hair sweaty and falling on his face. He moves his fingers, practically using every part of Anakin to his liking - the other hand is carefully caressing Anakin’s face, and Anakin opens up wholly to him, no barrier in his mind.

Obi Wan chokes out a sound as Anakin's feelings overwhelm him, his hips grinding hard and then stopping - Anakin tightens his hand, and then feels it getting wet, as a shudder makes its way through Obi Wan’s body, his hips making thoughtless circles. His muscles give out, and he lays all his weight on Anakin, his mouth crashing onto Anakin’s, still with the fingers in them. The spit is probably everywhere, but neither of them cares, Obi Wan shuddering through his orgasm, and Anakin staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

  
  


After a while, Obi Wan rolls off him, after Anakin already got used to being pressed into the bed, and their heavy breaths fill the silence.

“Well, that was something,” Anakin finally says, wiping his hand on the bedding, but leaving the come on his stomach for now. Later, when it becomes stiff, it will be disgusting, but now it’s only hot. He frames Obi Wan’s face with his clean hand, and leans over him. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Obi Wan says, and Anakin probably has never seen him so relaxed. He opens his eyes, and they’re hazy. “Perfect, actually.”

“Mhm,” Anakin says, and noses him on his cheek, then gives him a light peck. “That was good, right?”

“Insolence is not a good look on you,” Obi Wan says again, but he’s too fucked out to make it sound true. He tugs Anakin a little closer, and kisses him above his eyebrow. “I think that several things were lacking.”

Anakin snorts. “Sure,” he says, and wiggles a little to make them more comfortable, mindful of his sticky stomach. Gross. “We just have to practice more. You know, so we can master those lacking aspects.”

“Exactly,” Obi Wan murmurs, lazily tracing some shapes on Anakin’s arm. “You have to know I don’t cuddle for more than three minutes,” he says in his Negotiator-voice, and Anakin hums, winding his arms around his torso.

“Sure,” he says, not even trying to sound sincere.

Obi Wan only tightens his hold on him, and Anakin closes his eyes with a smile.

  
  
  
  


(“You were right,” Anakin says as he holocomms Padmé, Obi Wan deciding to go to shower after a few minutes of laying around. Anakin’s not totally sure why he decided to go shower, as Anakin’s not nearly done with him, but so be it.

“I’m always right, love,” Padmé says, elaborate makeup on her face and her hair winded up in some beautiful, complicated way. She looks at him and then her eyebrows climb up. “Were you attacked?”

“No,” Anakin says smugly. “Obi Wan and I fucked.”

Padmé looks at him, her gaze analyzing the bites and hickeys on him, his messed up hair, the beard burns slowly showing on his chest, and the thoroughly fucked-out expression on his face.

“Hm,” she says, glancing behind Anakin. “Does he know the first thing you did was calling me?” He knows exactly what she’s not saying.

“I’ll tell him,” Anakin says, straining his ears, and relaxing when he still can hear the running water. 

“Well, I’m happy for you,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, her expression soft. Anakin doesn’t know how he managed to find two such wonderful people in his life.

“Thanks, love,” he says to her, and she smiles at him. 

“We’ll talk later,” she says to him, looking to her side, a little distracted. “Duty calls.”

“Of course,” he says, and then softly, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Ani,” she says, her beautiful eyes glimmering. “Try not to limp your way back home.”

“Padmé!” he says, and she is laughing as she cuts out the holo. Anakin rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

The shower stops and Obi Wan sticks his head out of the fresher as Anakin throws himself on the bed with a giddy expression.

“You alright, dearest?” he asks, the water still running through his body, and Anakin smiles at him, sure that his love is visible even to a Force-blind person, and not caring even a little.

“Never been better,” he says, truth oozing out of him, feeling calm in the Force as never. Obi Wan rolls his eyes affectionately at him, and goes back to the shower.)

**Author's Note:**

> this whole ridiculous idea came to me with a scene of padmé imitating obi wan's accent when she's with anakin, so you have to thank her for this fic.
> 
> i'm thinking about making a second part (because in two months i have the most important exam in all of my years of education, so of course i do anything i can except studying), dealing more with the full ot3 and their dynamic, as i decided that it wouldn’t really fit in here with the way i wanted to finish it. maybe with some Internal Kenobi Screaming™️, and a little of the war and palpatine mess, but idk. please leave kudos and comments if you liked it, i'm starved for some nice words:( !!!!


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